


My Heroine

by LostinnNostalgia



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Blasphemy, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 17,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinnNostalgia/pseuds/LostinnNostalgia
Summary: "Being the perfect image they had painted for you isn't all you thought it'd be, is it?" he continued, ignoring her. "So you come here, pleading to God for help, pleading he'll put you back on the right path.""Fuck you," she spat, pushing at his chest, trying to escape him for a second time."Let me tell you something," he grabbed her arm again, more forcefully than the first time. He leaned down, his lips nearly brushing against her ear. "He's not listening."❦❦❦To Michael, she was the definition of light; the very essence of what he felt he needed to help quiet the chaos in his life. To her, he was a mystery to be unravelled. With larger forces at play than them, they both possibly get more than they bargained for.
Relationships: Michael Langdon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	1. i. come pick me up

The distant sounds of the radio echoed as she hummed along to the lyrics, wiping off the countertop almost mechanically for probably the tenth time in the last hour. While the same few songs seemed to be on rotation constantly, she was thankful for it to allow her to drift into a separate headspace. Her thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the minutes as they slipped away slowly. Getting out of there was quite honestly the only thing on her mind.

After pulling herself back to the present, her eyes surveyed the dimly lit bar. It was nearly empty, save for a couple of older gentlemen sitting at the tables near the back. It was the same almost every night, her having to kick them out at closing amicably. Despite their grumbling protests, they'd slide a tip into her palm, bidding her farewell until next time. These weren't the ones that bothered her, as they were mostly harmless.

Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall— not much longer now. She slung the towel in her hand over her shoulder, turning around to straighten out the bottles lining the shelves.

The bell above the door jingled, signalling the arrival of another customer. She sighed, wondering who would have the nerve to show up just before close.

 _This is what happens when people don't know what it's like to work in the service industry_ _;_ she thought to herself as she turned toward the door to identify them.

Her eyes fell on an unfamiliar face. He was young, which already set him apart from the usual patrons that frequented there, who mostly tended to be greyed and worn drunks. That's not to say it was entirely out of the ordinary to have younger guys come in. This was Los Angeles, after all; the city of dreams, and inevitably, in many cases, the destruction of them. Many lost souls travelled into the quietness of the tiny, unknown bar, hoping to find someone to listen to all their woes and tribulations they had suffered through, pouring out their feelings in a drunken spew of half-thought-out sentences. Unluckily for her, it also often resulted in unwarranted flirting and attempts to get her to go home with them. _These_ were the ones that bothered her, as she could see right through their intentions, regardless of how hard they tried to dress them up.

As her eyes scanned over him, she could feel something utterly different about him. His aura didn't radiate the energies she received with the others. While he was dishevelled, it was in a way that seemed almost elegant. He walked over to the bar, taking a seat on the stool directly in front of her. He sighed audibly, resting his chin in his palm.

For a moment, she thought maybe she was wrong about him; from this angle, he seemed like every other melodramatic being that had sat in that spot before him. She had no interest in small talking with him, either. She wanted to get him out of there as quickly as possible so she could lock up and head home.

Her left hand rested on her hip, looking at him as he stared blankly ahead. "Can I get you anything?"

He seemed almost startled, his piercing blue eyes looking up at her for the first time since he had arrived. Shrugging, he dropped his hand from his face. "Whatever's the strongest, I guess."

She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I think I'm going to have to see some ID for you. You look like you haven't even graduated high school yet."

His features were soft, childlike almost. The way his blond hair framed his face, his eyes gleaming like he could start crying at any moment— he just seemed to radiate a sort of innocence that made her question if he was even old enough to be here in the first place.

He sighed for a second time, folding his palms on the bar in front of him. His voice was low as he muttered out a reply. "Look, I'm just... I'm having a really hard time, okay?"

"Another tragic soul in LA," she chuckled, pouring him a shot, anyway. His tone had somewhat made her feel a bit sorry for him. "I get it."

He shook his head as she pushed the glass toward him. "It... it's not like that."

He wrapped his fingers around the shot, and she watched him as he downed it with a grimace. "It never is, is it? Always something deeper, more meaningful, more-"

He cut her off abruptly, slightly angry with the fact that she thought she could judge him without even knowing anything about him. "I'm not a tragedy of this city. I'm a tragedy of circumstance."

She tilted her head to the side, intrigued for some reason. This guy was strange; the way he spoke, his demeanour, everything about him just seemed off. She felt compelled to know more of his story. 

"What's your name, Mr. Tragedy?" she asked him.

He rolled his eyes before locking them on hers. "Michael."

Reaching her hand up to her neck, she absentmindedly fiddled with the pendant that hung there. Something about the way his eyes met hers made her feel scared for a moment, but it passed almost as quickly as it came. His eyes flicked to where her fingers rested, and he had to hide his amusement with her nervousness.

"Michael," she repeated upon regaining her composure, pouring him another shot. "What calamity occurred that brought you here?"

A corner of his mouth pulled up into a slight smile, and he placed his lips on the second shot, tilting his head back. This one didn't burn as badly as the first, but it still caused an unpleasant feeling in the back of his throat. He slid the shot glass back toward her before shaking his head, his curls falling perfectly over his forehead. "You expect me to open up to you without even the slightest reciprocation."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she muttered, filling his glass for the third time.

He chuckled lightly, and she couldn't help but enjoy the sound of it. "I think you do. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

She exhaled as he picked up the shot yet again. As she looked around, she noticed that everyone else had left. She was alone with him, which, for some reason, made her feel uncomfortable. She found it odd how he had seemed so shy and reserved at first, but everything about him had changed as if by the flip of a switch. Any sort of youthful innocence she thought he held had vanished.

"You act like you don't like small talk, but you know deep down you love hearing it. People's sorrows spilling from their mouths faster than you can take it all in," he pointed out, pausing for a moment. "Did you ever consider it's because you find comfort in this? Knowing that no matter how horrible things are for you, someone else is an even bigger wreck than you'll ever be?"

She narrowed her eyes, frowning. "You know nothing about me."

She was aware he was saying all of this just to get under her skin, but she couldn't understand why. All she was hoping for was for him to talk out his issues, find some sort of relief from this and get out. But now, she felt like he was analyzing her, and it freaked her out.

His eyes locked on hers again, and she found herself unable to look away. "I know more than you think. Your energy... it's like reading an open book, despite how closed off you think you may be."

His fingers moved from the shot glass to his coat pocket, digging out some cash before placing it directly in front of her. Wordlessly, he pressed his palms against the countertop, pushing himself away from it before putting his feet on the ground. He never broke eye contact with her the entire time, and she clenched her hands at her sides. The way he acted made her want to punch him right in the face. Every move he made was so fluid, deliberate. He exuded sexual confidence, and he knew exactly how it made her feel.

Leaning forward, a smirk formed on his face. "Have a good night."

With that, he removed his hands off the bar, finally breaking eye contact as he turned around and headed out the door, not even giving her a chance to respond.

She let out a deep breath, unaware until this point that she had even been holding it. She had no idea who this Michael guy was, but after he had disappeared, he left her feeling strangely. The way he moved, spoke, looked... it awakened something in her that she couldn't make sense of. For a brief moment, she had wished he would have been like the others, begging her to go home with them.

She more than likely would have taken him up on the offer, if for nothing more than to understand who he was and what the hell kind of game he was playing.


	2. ii. forgive my sins

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself once she had pushed the heavy doors open, a cold burst of air hitting her. Sighing, she berated herself for not grabbing a coat before she left. She hastily made her way down the steps, trying to dig her keys out of her purse once she hit the sidewalk.

"Where the-" she mumbled to herself, stopping short when she bumped into someone. She didn't even look up as she muttered out an apology, going to sidestep around them and continue on her way.

A hand wrapped around her elbow, startling her as her fingertips reached for her keys, ready to use them if she had to. Upon looking upward, her eyes settled on a set of bright blue ones, and although it had been nearly a month, she recognized them instantly. Reluctantly, she removed her hand from her purse, sighing. "Michael."

Even in the dim light coming from the street lamps, she could see he was a lot more put together this time. Everything was perfect, not a single hair out of place. The confidence that surged from him was nearly palpable, and she had to catch her breath.

"You," his lips curved up into a subtle smile, slightly loosening his grip. "What a coincidence it is, meeting again like this."

"Is it, though?" she asked him before attempting to go around him again, but he moved in front of her just as promptly.

"I don't think I ever got your name before, did I?" he spoke, ignoring her question.

She rolled her eyes, taking a step back. Being that close to him made her feel... disgusted? "Unimportant."

He cocked his head to the side, the smirk still playing on his lips. "You're really playing up that cold bitch persona, aren't you?" He paused for a moment, his eyes locking on hers again. "Fine. Let's start over. I'm Michael, and you are?"  
He held his hand out, but she didn't take it. She felt frozen, the same way she had the last time he looked at her this way. It was almost as if he was looking much, much deeper than surface level, and that terrified her.

"Arella," she breathed, despite wanting to run the other way.

"Arella," he repeated, her name sounding foreign coming from his mouth. "Messenger from the angels."

She was taken aback by the fact that he had known the meaning of her name, and the way he had said it was almost like he was mocking her.

He reached toward her, his fingers grasping onto the small cross that hung around her neck. "You don't really believe in all that, do you?"

Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers brushed against her skin, the feeling almost electric. "I-"

He let go of the necklace, his hand moving to gesture to the church behind them. "Confess your sins, and you shall be saved? Seems like bullshit to me."

She shook her head, her hand instinctively moving to clasp around the cross Michael just had between his fingers. "Maybe, but isn't it comforting to think that there could possibly be more to this?"

He shrugged. "I think it's more of an elaborate system to keep people complacent, and given the way things are, even that doesn't seem to be working."

She couldn't help but laugh. "Wow, you're quite the cynic, aren't you? You really are that tortured soul I thought you were when I met you."

"And you are just dying to stray from this path set out for you by your parents, aren't you?" he shook his head, mimicking her. "You just want to tear that good Catholic girl dress off that they've so desperately been putting you in since you were a child."

"You like to divert attention from yourself," she quipped back. "Stop acting like you know everything about me."

She tried to act confident, but her wavering voice betrayed her. She knew there was an element of truth in his words, despite wanting to reject it.

"Being the perfect image they had painted for you isn't all you thought it'd be, is it?" he continued, ignoring her. "So you come here, pleading to God for help, pleading he'll put you back on the right path."

"Fuck you," she spat, pushing at his chest, trying to escape him for a second time.

"Let me tell you something," he grabbed her arm again, more forcefully than the first time. He leaned down, his lips nearly brushing against her ear. "He's not listening."

"Who are you?" she managed to whisper back, her curiosity momentarily clouding the anger. Energy coursed through his fingers gripping her, and she couldn't decipher if it was good or bad.

He moved away from her face, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at her. "I'm not so sure yet. Who are you?"

The way he spoke caused an icy feeling to slide through her veins. Absolutely terrified, she yanked her arm back toward herself, and he released it, allowing her to walk away.

She moved as fast as her feet would carry her, stumbling as she reached into her purse yet again. Upon pulling her keys out, a piece of paper fluttered out, and she caught it just before it hit the ground. Looking at it confusedly, she had half a mind to question how it even got there. Reading it over, she saw a phone number, along with a note written neatly beneath it:

_Let me know if you want some true salvation._


	3. iii. if I let you in

Her head rested against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed in complete bliss. The room was almost completely dark, aside from a few candles casting a flickering source of light. She couldn't stop the soft moan that escaped her lips, her hips moving upward impulsively.

"Shhh," a voice mumbled as fingers pressed into her hips to hold her in place, causing her to open her eyes.

Through her blurred vision, her eyes were able to focus on a head of blond curls between her thighs. Almost as if she had been compelled, her fingers moved to grasp it. It was incredibly soft and delicate, the feeling complementing and further amplifying her pleasure.

"Ohh," she groaned, her grip tightening. "Don't stop. Don't stop, M-"

She could feel her voice leaving her, and then suddenly, everything faded to black.

❦❦❦

Shooting upwards, Arella ran a hand across her face. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat, heart feeling like it was about to beat right out of her chest. As she tried to slow her breathing, she could feel her head beginning to spin. She had no idea what kind of dream that was, and she had never experienced anything quite like it, especially not something so... vivid. Every touch, movement, emotion... she could still feel it, even in her awakened state.

She knew Michael had something to do with it.

And she hated him for it. Hated that thoughts of him like that had even manifested in her head. It made her feel disgusted— and so did he— but there was something else lingering in the background that she couldn't quite pinpoint.

Curiosity, perhaps?

From the time she was young, Arella had always been able to read people. Their auras told her much more about themselves than their mouths ever would, which was why she tended to avoid intimate relationships with anyone. She could spot intentions from a mile away, and unfortunately for her, no one ever seemed to be pure. There was always some sort of ulterior motive.

But Michael was different.

She felt it from the beginning, his energies shifting so rapidly she couldn't grasp quite what it all meant. The way his disposition had moved from one dripping in childish innocence to a cocky, arrogant asshole perplexed her, and it made her want to know more. Being unaware of his actual intent freaked her out, as she relied on this ability to keep her distance from those who wished to wrong her. She needed to get into his head as much as he got into hers.

Even worse than curiosity, she wondered, could it be overt desire she was feeling? She shook these thoughts, her hand clasping the cross around her neck.

 _It was just a dream; she_ reminded herself. _It doesn't mean anything._ There was absolutely no way she'd let herself sink to a level so low where she craved the touch of someone she had only met in passing. It was sinful, and she despised herself for even letting that thought cross her mind.

But it frightened her because it proved just how easily he was able to get into her head, and she knew deep down that those visions meant more than she was letting on.


	4. iv. you'll crawl inside

He didn't know why he did it. It was like a majority of the things he did; his actions became more of a compulsion than something he consciously thought about. The dead animals, the priest, and now her... they were all things he could not explain.

Something about her— the way she spoke to him, fighting against him with every word— it made him want her. She ignited a fire in him, releasing something that he didn't even know about. It was almost as if the words coming out of his mouth were no longer his, but someone else's. The arrogance he held came seemingly out of nowhere. He'd never spent a second in his life self-assured, always cautious and hiding in the sidelines. Of course, he was still trying to come to terms with literally growing up overnight, which caused a lot of confusion and apprehension for the boy whose body was adapting much too quickly for his brain to keep up. As a result, avoidance of conflict— and people in general— was generally his way of dealing with things.

But the moment his eyes met hers, something changed, making him sure of only one thing: he needed her.

He didn't understand it. She was attractive, he supposed. Those deep blue eyes were like an ocean he could drown in, and he could watch her mouth speak for days, but it was like he was being drawn to her in a way much like gravitational force pulls the planets toward the sun.

Until Arella came along, Michael hadn't taken much notice in anyone. While he could pick out objectively desirable traits in someone, she was different. He could feel the physical ache he had for her, and he was having a hard time wrapping his head around it. It wasn't even necessarily a sexual need he was experiencing; he simply had to have her in every way possible. It was more than surface-level attraction to him.

Why was he feeling so strongly about her, and how did she provoke that side of him that he didn't even know existed?

He chided himself for talking to her so harshly, knowing fully well that his demeanour more than likely scared her off. If it didn't, him reading her in the way he did would have.

He knew his grandmother would have punished him if she was aware of how he had spoken to a woman. Sighing at the thought, he realized it didn't matter, considering the fact that she no longer wanted him anymore. He was fucked up, and she couldn't handle the mess of it all, not that he could blame her.

It was all a distraction, Michael decided. The desire he felt for Arella was to help him deal with the loss of the only source of care he had. It was nothing more profound than that. He needed someone to fill the hole, and he attached to the first person who gave him a thought.

Even so, he couldn't deny the longing— the way his heart stuck in his throat when he simply thought of her. Judging by the impressions he gathered from her when he gripped her arm that night at the church, he felt she wanted him, too. Maybe not as much or in the same ways, but he knew she was at least partly intrigued by him as well.

Many times, he found himself outside the bar she worked at. He wanted to make things right with her, apologize for the way he had acted. Instead, he'd gaze inside, if only to merely catch a glimpse of her in the shadowy building in front of him. He knew he had already been forthcoming enough with her, and didn't want to push her even further away from him than he already had.

By now, he was holding out hope that through the embarrassingly invasive note he left her, she would reach out and contact him. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, she would give him a chance to redeem himself.

He wasn't willing to give her up just yet.


	5. v. took a hit from your level

A couple of weeks had passed since Arella had the dream about Michael, and she still couldn't shake the feeling that remained long after she had woken up. The emotions she had felt that night surged through her at the thought of his head between her thighs. It replayed in her mind constantly. Often, she would catch herself in bed at night deep in her subconscious, thinking of those beautiful curls clenched between her fingers. She'd snap herself out of it, removing her hand that was resting on her lower stomach as if she had been shocked. This behaviour was entirely out of character for her, as she had never obsessed over someone quite as she did with Michael. Specifically, she'd never had these kinds of feelings for someone she knew next to nothing about.

It felt juvenile, and she wanted to bang her head against the wall. Maybe that would bring her slight relief from the tight grip those visions had on her mind, as the endless praying to whoever was listening didn't seem to be doing much.

More than once, she typed that number into her phone to send a message. She never went through with it, however, and she wondered if she'd be better off throwing the piece of paper out and forgetting the whole thing. For some reason, though, she couldn't bring herself to do it, like some imaginary force was stopping her every time.

Beyond the outright lust she was feeling— which she didn't like to admit to— she found herself drawn to the ambiguous air he had. She genuinely wanted nothing more than to delve deep into that mind that had been messing with her since that night at the bar.

❦❦❦

Something about the tone of Arella's voice, or perhaps the lack of conversation on her part during their weekly phone call in general, must have tipped her best friend off. That's what ultimately led to her being perched at the end of Arella's bed, listening as she recounted the events that occurred over the weeks prior. Of course, Arella had left out some details, including how she still thought about that dream nearly every single night. She hoped no one would ever find out about that.

"I really don't understand why you won't take a chance," her friend, Devon, spoke afterwards.

Sighing, Arella stared at the ceiling. "You just don't get it, do you?"

She had already begun to regret her decision to bring up Michael and the whole situation in the first place, but she felt she needed to talk to someone about it. As she spoke with her best friend, she had hoped she'd bring some semblance of sanity back to her, not add further fuel to the fire that had been ravaging through her.

"I get it completely. From where I'm standing, some mysterious, attractive dude wants to hit you up, and you're honestly considering ignoring him," Devon replied.

Rolling her eyes, Arella sat up from her position on the bed to face her. "You're supposed to be the voice of reason, Dev. Telling me to not act on impulse-"

"Oh, honey," the other girl laughed, cutting her off. "You've never acted on impulse once in your life when it comes to people. Sometimes it's not such a bad thing."

Arella inhaled sharply. "You're not hearing what I'm saying. There's something... off about him. The way he grabbed me that night at the church, I could _feel_ it, Devon. But what I couldn't feel was his intent. That's never happened before. Everything was just so... mixed up."

"Sometimes your abilities really are more of a hindrance than a help," Devon responded, a hand resting on top of Arella's in an attempt to comfort her. "We can't always rely on them fully for guidance."

"Is that what Cordelia has been teaching you?" Arella questioned her, and she couldn't help the bitterness that seeped into her words.

Devon sighed. "It really isn't so bad, El. Maybe you should come back-"

Raising her hand, Arella stopped the words before they came out of her mouth. "You and I both know that place isn't for me. The structure, the pressures... it's just not... me. Besides, I'm doing fine on my own."

"Hmmm," her friend paused for a moment, a playful smirk pulling on the corners of her mouth. "Maybe with the whole being a witch thing, but certainly not with the whole getting yourself laid thing."

"Oh, come on," Arella protested. "Can we just drop this conversation? I wish I never brought it up in the first place."

"Only if you send that text, then I'll drop it," Devon challenged.

"Did you forget everything I told you besides the part about him being attractive?" Arella questioned her. "About god not listening? About-"

She shrugged. "Oh, yeah. Him reading you and all that, Catholic dress, etcetera. I thought it was kind of hot."

"You are just as bad as him!" Arella spoke incredulously, eyes widening. "Blasphemous."

Her friend leaned forward, wrapping one of Arella's dark brown curls around her finger as she smirked. "Hmmm, maybe I'll just have to text him instead, then."

"Whatever."

"Seriously, El. You wouldn't be getting so worked up about this if you weren't at least a little curious."

"I'm... I don't know. It's frightening."

"Sometimes, we have to let that human impulse win. Let go of things."

"Yeah, we all know where that got me before," Arella mumbled indignantly, averting her gaze. Nothing good had ever come out of ignoring her intuition about people, and she was reluctant to start doing so now.

"Not everything is going to be like that, my love."

Arella simply shrugged, not saying anything more.

"It's just a text," Devon rolled her eyes, reaching over to grab the phone left on the nightstand. She set it down on the bed between the two of them, eyeing her friend expectantly. "It's not like you're planning a marriage and kids."

Inhaling sharply, Arella opened up the new message screen, the phone number already typed in. She simply stared at it, as if it was going to self-destruct at any moment. While she knew Devon was right—for the most part— and made valid points, she was still hesitant.

"Oh, this is painful," Devon laughed, snatching the phone from her and typing quickly.

"Dev!" Arella shrieked, trying to wrench it out of her grasp, but she suddenly found herself unable to move after her friend flicked her fingers in her direction. "This isn't fucking funny."

"There. Jump right in the deep end, honey."

The phone was tossed back at Arella, and she read the words on the screen:

_Hey, it's Arella. I'm ready for that salvation._

"Are you kidding me? 'I'm ready for that salvation'? I'm going to kill you," Arella raised her palm in front of her, poised to inflict anything she could on her friend at that moment.

"Hey," Devon grabbed her wrist. "When that dream of yours becomes a reality, you'll be thanking me for this. Trust me."


	6. vi. now I just can't get enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finally gets what's coming to him (kind of).

Amused. That was the best way to describe Michael's reaction to the text message he had received from Arella nearly three weeks after their encounter at the church. While there was that part of him that was doubtful, he had this feeling that she would eventually have no choice but to respond.

He was proud of himself for this, and he couldn't hide the surge of confidence that went through him as she sat down at the table in the café across from him. She was dressed in head to toe black, as usual, which he found to be such an odd contrast for someone who, to him at least, seemed to be the very definition of innocence and light.

She rolled her eyes when she noticed the slight smirk on his face. Of course. Regret had already sunk in, and he hadn't even opened his mouth to speak yet. He simply locked his gaze on hers, gratification at the fact that she was in front of him evident in his features.

"Arella," he finally broke the silence. "It's nice to see you, though I must say I was expecting this much sooner."

She hated the way her name sounded coming from his mouth. Simply put, she hated the way _anything_ sounded. His voice was so smooth— to the point where it was almost jarring— _sickeningly_ sweet, but she was well aware that he was trying to press her buttons.

And he was already doing an excellent job at it.

Averting her gaze, she pressed her palms against the edge of the table, going to stand. "I knew this was a stupid idea."

He reached his hand across the distance between them, fingers landing close to hers but not quite touching. "Wait."

Her eyes met his again, and his features had softened somewhat. She saw a fragment of the youthful boy from that night at the bar, but she knew better than to let that fool her.

Inhaling sharply, she moved her hands away from the table, allowing them to fall into her lap. "What, Michael?"

Her tone was caustic, laced with bitterness, but the slight tremble didn't go unnoticed.

The sound of it, and the effect he knew he was having on her, only spurred his arrogance. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, his hand still drawn out to her. "Don't you still want that salvation?"

She rolled her eyes for a second time. It was becoming almost a knee-jerk reaction at this point. "You and I both know I didn't write that text."

He shrugged. "Maybe not, but you're here, aren't you?"

She grasped the mug of coffee in front of her, bringing it to her lips. "Yeah, and I'm beginning to wonder why I even bothered."

"You're scared," his tone was pensive as he leaned forward. "But you're also intrigued. That's what brought you here in the first place, right?"

"God, you're annoying," she muttered, placing the mug back on the table so forcefully that some of the coffee splashed over the edges. "Maybe I _was_ intrigued by you at one point. Something about you drew me in. You were hard to read, but even if your energies are chaotic and uninterpretable, I know exactly what you are, Michael."

He was slightly taken aback by her sudden outburst. She had always come off as shy and reserved, so when he caught that glint of anger in her eye, her fist clenched tightly on top of the table, it confused him.

But it also excited him, and he looked on in bewilderment as she spoke to him in this way. His lips parted as he went to talk, but she raised her hand, and it was as if the words became lodged in his throat at her gesture.

"You don't have to try and explain yourself, and quite honestly, I don't want to hear it," she continued. "You can play it off all you want, but I can see it. I can see you. That cavalier, self-assured mask you wear, making others uncomfortable to help hide who you really are."

His voice finally found him, but when it did, nothing coherent seemed to come out. "I'm-"

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm as her eyes narrowed. "You must really think I'm stupid, don't you?"

He shook his head frantically, his demeanour already crumbling. He had no idea where any of this was coming from, but there was no denying that he was enjoying it. His mouth was dry as he struggled to speak. "I-I don't think you're stupid, Arella."

"It does work though, doesn't it?" she questioned, ignoring him. "It fooled me, anyways. That false confidence hooked me, but you're exactly who I thought you were from the beginning. Bolstering your ego, knocking people down to make them weak, but still giving enough to keep them crawling back. You're exactly like the rest, Michael, and I'm disgusted with myself for even giving you a second thought."

Biting his bottom lip, he watched as she slid from her seat. Her words stung, sharp like knives as they fell from her mouth. But her anger, her _hatred_ for him only made him want her more. As he silently listened to her vilify him, he couldn't help but stare at her lips, wanting to capture them in his own.

She stood beside him, tilting her head to the side as if waiting for some sort of remark from him. When nothing came, she leaned down so they were face to face, noses nearly brushing. "How's that for a reading, Michael?"

When she moved away, he could see the smirk playing on her lips. She was enjoying this— throwing everything back in his face, gaining the upper hand on him— it excited her in more ways than one.

He sighed, his fingers grasping her arm as she went to walk away. At this point, any trace of the egotistical façade he once had was gone. "Please, Arella. It... it's not entirely what you think."

"Hmmm, not entirely?" she questioned him.

"Just... give me a chance to explain," his eyes were practically begging her, hand still wrapped around her arm. "Please."

His behaviour was the exact opposite of the way he was when she first settled in the seat across from him, but something told her he was being genuine.

And he was; he was terrified of fucking up possibly the one chance of knowing this girl who captivated him more and more with each passing moment.

She nodded once, shifting her arm closer to her chest in an effort to release his grip. "Fine."


	7. vii. monsters much bigger than I can control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby Arella comes into her powers, much to her mother's dismay.

She could remember quite clearly when it started happening. While they were small flickers and fragments seeping in at first, they became increasingly harder to ignore or excuse as childhood imagination.

And this utterly terrified her.

Arella was well acquainted with her familial origins and history. Her mother, Elizabeth, made absolutely sure she was, consistently drilling into her young daughter's head how much she _despised_ every last part of it. There was no way Arella would get tangled up in the mess that their predecessors had created and she herself had managed to avoid.

But when the girl's temper got out of control on one occasion, and dinnerware smashed into the walls seemingly on their own, the woman knew that she had some trouble on her hands.

Arella was young; barely six years old at the time of the incident. No witches had ever come to their powers that young, especially not at that _level._

On another occasion, she walked into the living room to find her daughter standing on the coffee table, various objects levitating around her as she laughed gleefully. At this point, she became desperate for an explanation. Desperate for _anything_ to explain away the possibility that her absolute pride and joy was becoming everything she hated.

"It has to be something else," Elizabeth insisted, lifting her face from her palms as she spoke with her husband. "There's no way she- she didn't do that. It has to be this house, my mother, the energies-"

So, they moved and prayed to God that their daughter would get over this, whatever _this_ was. It seemed to work until she hit her teens when she started having visions that gripped her consciousness so tightly and viciously that she was having a hard time focusing in school. While she tried her best to suppress what was happening to avoid suspicions from her mother, her grades started to slip.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, okay?" Arella blurted, frustrated with where the conversation was going. "Maybe I am a witch-"

"Stop," her mother interjected, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's simply not possible, Arella. The lineage was broken."

Arella had descended from extremely powerful witches, and they dated back to the very conception of their class as a whole. Her mother, however, marked the very first break when she never came into power like those before her. Her absolute hatred of the practice— and her family in general— appalled her elders, but when she turned to the guidance of Catholicism to completely renounce her bloodline was when things seemed to come to a screeching halt. Elizabeth never came to be a witch, thus effectively ending her lineage.

Or so she thought.

After their argument, Arella was sent to Catholic school, where her mother hoped her delusions would be washed away and they could put everything behind them. But when Arella was kicked out of school for breaking a girl's arm who she insisted she didn't touch, Elizabeth knew avoidance was no longer an option.

"I'll just go stay with grandma, and I won't be a burden to you anymore," Arella suggested. At that point, anything would be better than living under the pressures of her overbearing parents. She could hardly remember her grandmother, having not seen her since around her first display of magical tendencies, and even then visitations were sporadic due to the overall distrust in the family. Elizabeth had somehow linked her daughter's outburst to the elderly witch's influence and forbade her from being around, and she hadn't been seen since.

Her mother scoffed at this. "I don't even know why you'd even think to suggest that. Your grandmother is an evil woman, and I have spent every second since you were born keeping you away from that."

"You kept me from who I really am," she shot back, her tone laced with malice. "Don't you think it would have been easier on me if you wouldn't have suppressed everything and gotten me the help I needed when I started showing signs of-"

"Arella Rae Bellion," Elizabeth cut her off, her voice growing louder to match her daughter's. "Enough. Don't chastise me on how I raised you. None of this should have ever happened in the first place."

"Right, so it's my fault now."

"I'm not saying it-" she stopped herself mid-sentence. "Look, I don't know how to deal with this, but you need someone to help you control your powers. You can't just go around breaking people's arms when they inconvenience you."

"She was the one who instigated it by-"

Elizabeth held up her hand, stopping her. "We're going to get you help, okay? Bottom line."

Arella had begun to research who she was on her own and became intimately involved with a group of other young witches. They provided a sort of solace that she was unable to find in her real life. During her chats with them, there had been whisperings of a place, a sanctuary of sorts, for girls just like her. She had never taken the idea of it seriously.

Until now.

"I think I might know of where I can get it," she took a deep breath before continuing. "Have you heard of Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies?"

❦❦❦

"New Orleans?" Elizabeth practically choked, exasperated that Arella would even suggest this. "That's hundreds of miles away!"

"Look, they have excellent success rates. Maybe I can finally find a place where I'll fit in-" Arella began. Trying to convince her mother that the distance between them would be worth it was going to be a monumental task, to say the least. Accepting who Arella had become was hard to swallow, and at times downright unbearable to the point where she could barely look at her, but she was still her baby. She nevertheless felt an inherent need to protect her by all means necessary.

"I just... I don't know if being that far away is such a good idea," Elizabeth cut her off, scrolling through the photos of the supposed academy on her daughter's computer.

"I'm eighteen, mother. I can handle it, I promise. I'll get a support system, and you'll have me out of the way. It's a win-win."

Elizabeth sighed, turning her attention from the computer to her daughter, meeting her gaze. "I don't want to be rid of you, Arella. I just-"

"You wish this wasn't me. You wish I wasn't like your mother. You wish-"

"Please, enough," she stopped her. "We'll try it, okay? We'll try it."

Less than two weeks later, Arella was on the long journey to New Orleans, starting the beginning of what would be the rest of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... how are we feeling about this? Is anyone actually reading? Shall I continue on? Is it even making any sense?? Haha, anyways, thanks to all who have been reading. x


	8. viii. the deeper you dig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of my favourite parts I've written so far tbh. Enjoy!

Arella slid back into her spot opposite Michael, clasping her hands neatly on top of the table. "Okay."

Michael shifted awkwardly in his seat, unsure of how he was going to go about this— he wasn't entirely comfortable bearing his soul, stripping himself of the walls he'd built up to protect all that he was hiding. Unfortunately, his abhorrent behaviour toward the one person who he wanted to keep close to him was leaving him with no other choice. If he was going to redeem himself, at least to a point, he would have to tell Arella some of his story.

His eyes flitted nervously from hers to their surroundings; the small coffee shop had begun to get busy, the first of the evening rush starting. Low mumblings of conversations, dishes clinking, and the odd burst of laughter were becoming almost overwhelming, making it nearly impossible for Michael to organize a coherent stream of consciousness.

Sighing, she lifted her hand and tapped a single fingernail on the table in front of him. "Hey, if you don't feel like talking, I can go."

His gaze snapped back to her. She looked unamused and almost entirely disinterested at this point.

"I... No," he stammered, placing his hand over hers before realizing how creepy that was and pulled it away. Arella hardly seemed to notice, or at least didn't show it outwardly, for which he was thankful. "It's just... I'd rather talk somewhere without as many distractions."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Ohh, so that's what this is about. You want to lure me back to your house so you can murder me and bury me in your backyard. I didn't realize I offended you that much."

His eyes widened, staring at her. "That is absolutely not what I meant-"

"I know," she cut him off, a smile playing on her lips as she pushed herself away from the table. "You're way too obsessed with me to off me this early on."

He kept watching her, opening his mouth, shutting it, and opening it again. "I-"

"I'm fucking with you, Michael. I can see why you enjoy it so much," she laughed, zipping her coat up. She wasn't entirely sure why she was all of a sudden so audacious and insulting toward him, but she was enjoying every second of it. "Come on."

❦❦❦

Michael didn't have even the slightest idea of where to begin. How was he to reconcile being so rude— and if he was honest with himself, quite disturbing— without making himself sound like either a child making up grandiose tales to explain away their wrongdoings or, arguably worse, an absolute mental case?

Put quite simply; he couldn't.

 _Maybe it's because you're both of those things,_ a voice murmured in the back of his mind. _A crazy, volatile child who will never create any level of normalcy in their life._

He willed those thoughts away, trying to keep up with Arella's hasty pace as best as he could, despite her legs being significantly shorter than his.

"Could you at least slow down?" Michael inquired, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to dodge other pedestrians that Arella weaved through with seemingly no effort.

Sighing, she came to a halt, allowing him to catch up. He narrowly missed crashing into her, only saving himself by thrusting his hand out, his palm pressing against her back. He retracted it quickly, shoving both hands into his pockets as they continued along at a reasonable pace.

She didn't say anything, but there was a part of her that was amused with this side of Michael. It was as if whatever mechanisms were controlling his conceited demeanour had all malfunctioned at once, revealing the framework behind it. The framework of a scared child who was tiptoeing on the edge of a cliff, careful not to do anything to set her off.

And this was essentially what was happening. More and more, he was likening himself to the little man behind the curtains, and less the mighty wizard he initially tried to portray.

Of course, there was no wizard to begin with; that front, whatever _it_ was, Michael had nothing to do with it. The entirety of it, and his ability to behave in that manner, frightened him, though he would never admit to it.

Arella paused again, exhaling sharply. Turning to Michael, her piercing gaze met his. "What kind of game are you playing, Michael?"

Startled, he stepped back a little. "I don't-"

"Come on," she extended her arms out, sitting down on one of the benches lining the sidewalk. "I know well enough when I'm being led on. What do you really want from this?"

"I'm..." he trailed off.

What _did_ he want from this? Redemption, sure, but he couldn't deny how she was making him feel. The way his head spun at a dizzying pace while she was calling him out, his mouth going dry when her nose nearly brushed his...

She downright _exhilarated_ him, and he wanted all she was willing to give.

"To tell you the truth," he began again. He felt parched, tongue chalky as he swallowed harshly.

Arella shifted away from the middle of the bench, gesturing to the spot beside her. She crossed one leg over the other, the red bottom of her heeled boot catching his eye. "Well, come then."

Her hands rested on her knees, clasped together as she waited for him to take a seat.

They stayed in silence for a few moments, which was when Michael noticed just _how_ silent it was. The crowds on the sidewalks had seemed to have dissipated, for the most part, leaving only the odd individual walking swiftly by. The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting an eerie glow across Arella's features that made her look almost sinister while he looked directly at her. Like there was something else— some _one_ else— hiding behind her virtuous face and that golden cross hanging loosely against her chest.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he rubbed his fists against them as he tried to piece together his thoughts and push _others_ out of his mind _._

"Do you ever experience conversations you're having from far away?" he questioned her, still avoiding eye contact. "You can hear the words are in your voice, but you're not the one saying them? Like someone else is talking through you?"

A single laugh came from her chest. "Wow, the excuses for shitty behaviour just continue to get more creative the more times I interact with men. It truly is amazing, the way those minds of yours work."

As she spoke, he stole a glance at her. Her eyes were cold, and the rigidness in her jaw told him that he was pushing her further away. He was losing her.

_Fuck._

"I'm... I'm not excusing it, Arella. Please, I really don't know how else to explain..." he trailed off, desperate to say anything he could to get her to stay. "You have to believe me. I'm sorry."

She stared at him a long while, noting the defeat that went nearly as deep as his blue irises that were seemingly glistening with the beginnings of tears.

"Hmm," she finally sounded, uncrossing her legs only to bring up the opposite one. "I don't know why, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it's your desperation, or maybe it's just that you intrigue me, Michael. We'll pick up on this conversation another time. It's getting late."

She stood up, leaving him sitting there in awe.

"Wait, that's it? Arella, I'm-"

"It's late," she reiterated, already moving down the sidewalk back toward the café. She didn't even glance back at him as she spoke again: "Goodnight, Michael."


	9. Genesis I. in the beginning was the word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the verse utilized in the title for this part is not from Genesis, obviously, and is meant to connote 'beginnings' in this context with the bible double entendre (also obviously, lol)
> 
> Blood/mutilation/pregnancy complication tw

_Or, perhaps, the lack thereof._

The entirety of the plan and its impending aftereffects was rather simple; at least, in their heads it was. They had both suffered greatly at the hands of their mutual abuser, and as a result, they wanted them to atone for it.

Simple, really.

If only they could sort out the logistics first, that is. Turns out, an eye for an eye wasn't as straightforward as it seemed.

"I don't understand what we're doing wrong!" she spoke, exasperated as she crossed her bloodied arms against her bare chest one night. The precise cuts he had sliced in her forearms had stopped bleeding at this point. "None of this is working!"

Sighing, he wrapped his own crimson arms tightly around her. "We will get it, I promise."

As the weeks, months and years went by, however, he was finding that promise moving further out of reach. Their attempts became more desperate, and he could tell it was putting a strain on the two of them.

"I'm tired," she would say. "We should have known this would never work in our favour."

He didn't like her upset, the resentment of it all set deep in her features as her brows furrowed. More so, he despised that there was seemingly nothing they could do to rectify the situation. The entirety of their artifice was unravelling before it could even begin.

Until one night, she could feel something; subtle at first, almost like the flutter of wings, but it quickly became stronger as the moments went by.

There could be no doubt as to what this meant.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, causing him to fly to her side, a concerned look etched into his features. He always feared for her, though he knew she was quite capable of taking care of herself. She consistently made this fact known; she needed no one but herself.

"It-it's happening!" Shakily, she gripped his wrist in her delicate fingers, guiding his hand to her lower stomach.

"Darling, I-" he stopped, his gaze flicking from his hand to her eyes, which by now were welling with tears. "I can't believe it. This... we... it's real!"

She nodded, a grin spreading across her face as the tears came freely now down both of their faces.

Kneeling down, he placed both hands on her stomach, feeling the rhythmic moves of the life force within. He pressed his lips against her skin before speaking: "To the beginning of the end, my love."

❦❦❦

Everything was spinning. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried her best to regain a sense of her surroundings. She began to make notes about the position she was in. First, she was lying on the floor, though she had no idea what happened for her to end up there. Next, the skirt of her dress was damp, judging by the way it stuck to the tops of her thighs. The unmistakable metallic scent stinging her nostrils came next, one that she'd grown rather familiar with over the months preceding.

_Focus,_ she took shallow breaths, blinking rapidly a few times until the bright white light finally formed into the chandelier hanging from the ceiling above her. Things were still fuzzy around the edges as she managed to pull herself up into a sitting position before placing her left palm on the ground. It landed in something wet, and she brought it up in front of her face to examine the red that it was now coated in.

_Blood,_ she thought as she looked on the floor around her.There was so much blood, she was sure there hadn't even been that much the time they tried conceiving and sliced their arms so deeply that she was certain she might actually lose consciousness. So much blood that she was sure this couldn't be normal, despite the fact that nothing about any of this could be considered even close to something in the realm of the natural.

She hadn't even realized that she had been screaming until he scooped her up and cradled her in his arms.

"Shhhh," he tried to soothe her, his fingers combing through her hair as she just kept screaming.

Bringing her fist up to her mouth, she bit down on the knuckle of her index finger until she was sure she drew blood.

_Blood. It's over._

He just rocked her for what seemed like forever, not saying anything.

Eventually, she stopped sobbing, looking up at her lover. "He's... he's gone. I can't feel him anymore."

_How could they ever go on after this?_ She wondered. _How could she ever look at him the same knowing they'd come so close to true happiness but still failed? How could_ he _look at her knowing their child had been lost again?_

"I... I know," he sighed, his fingers intertwining with hers over her abdomen.

"What are we supposed to do?" she questioned him, exhausted after he had managed to get her cleaned up and into bed. "Everything we have tried has failed. Fertility charts, following moon cycles, the blood rituals? I mean, come on, that doesn't even make sense!"

"I don't know, okay?" he threw his hands up, agitated as his voice raised slightly. "There isn't exactly a fucking instruction manual on how to-" He stopped short, running a hand through his hair.

She shrunk back, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Don't yell at me," she barely choked out.

"I'm sorry, El," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "You know it's not you I'm upset with."

She swallowed hard, some of the tension leaving her body. "I know."

He climbed into bed next to her, pulling her close so her head rested on his chest.

"We're running out of alternatives," she exhaled sharply. "In all honesty, we're running out of time. She's almost ready, and we can't lose out on this. There won't be another chance."

There was a long silence, leaving only their laboured breaths to fill the void.

"There's still one other option," he finally spoke. He hated even having to bring this up with her, knowing fully well she would object. Unfortunately, their options were becoming more and more limited, and time _was_ running out.

They needed to do something.

She eyed him, noting the apprehensiveness that seemed to hang between them. "What is it?"

He exhaled. "Do you remember that place in Los Angeles?"


	10. ix. the darker it gets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some depictions of violence in this one, religious imagery, etc.

Arella continued down the sidewalk, her heels tapping rhythmically against the pavement. She kept up her pace, not even glancing back as Michael called for her. The conversation that had just occurred between the two of them freaked her out, though she was determined to ensure that Michael didn't see this. The slight upper hand she had gained on him had been a pleasant turn of events, and she wouldn't allow things to swing back the other way.

She couldn't help but snap at him, closing herself off as he explained himself. But it wasn't anger that caused the reaction this time; it was blatant fear.

She knew exactly what he meant.

The feeling that the words weren't hers, even though they were clearly coming out in her voice. Feeling as though she was being manipulated into saying things she otherwise wouldn't. She understood it all.

And it terrified her, producing a frigid chill that coursed through her and made a home in her bones.

But maybe this was Michael's intention; these strange happenings _did_ ultimately begin to transpire after their very first meeting in the bar nearly two months prior. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence, and all of this was just his sick way of fucking with her head. There had been an evident power struggle between them since the beginning, and he didn't seem to be one who would give up his hold on it that easily. She was quite cognizant of his kind, those with superiority complexes so substantial that any loss of sovereignty could cause them to spiral.

The way Michael seemingly submitted, all arrogance gone as if he was no longer the same person, did not make logical sense. 

The entirety of the situation, and Michael in general, did not make sense. Nearly every brain cell was screaming at her to run, to never look back. When her eyes met his, vibrant red danger signs flashed in her mind. This boy was going to bring her nothing but trouble, and the overwhelming sense she had of this was palpable. She could feel it in her chest as her heart threatened to pound through her rib cage. She could taste it on her tongue, feel its nails clawing at her throat.

Run.

Run.

_Get away._

She was moving faster now, the clicking of her heels growing louder, less balanced. Her fingers reached up to her neck, wrapping around the cross that hung there so tightly she could feel it pierce into her palm. She was hot, feverish almost as she glanced over her shoulder, almost half-expecting Michael to be there. When he wasn't, she breathed a sigh of relief, her hand falling to her side as she looked forward again.

If Michael intended to drive her mad, it was working, she thought, becoming irritated with herself more than anything.

Unaware of where she was headed, if anywhere at all, she allowed her subconscious to provide guidance. It always took her to where she needed to be. Pulling her hood low on her forehead, she let her mind to go blank, counting the number of steps in between each block of concrete.

_One, two, three, one, two, three, four, one, two, three..._

Shortly after, she stopped at the bottom of a massive set of stairs. Sighing, she ascended them hastily, yanking open the heavy doors at their peak. After removing her hood, she smoothed her hair down as she took in the dimly lit room. It was completely empty this time of night, the tapping of her boots noisily echoing as she made her way to the front pew. As she took a seat, her eyes settled on the large crucifix before her.

If anyone could help her, it was him. She allowed her eyes to fall shut, lips moving in a silent prayer as she clasped her hands on her lap.

But she couldn't stop thinking of Michael. She couldn't stop thinking about what he said, how she was desperate to fulfill her parents' image of her. How all of it was a lie.

 _Seems like bullshit to me,_ Michael's words murmured in her mind.

Maybe it _was_ bullshit, she wondered, but promptly shoved these thoughts away as she began muttering a prayer aloud.

"I believe in God, the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth," she spoke, squeezing her eyes shut.

 _You come here, pleading to god, pleading he'll put you on the right path,_ his articulate statements came again.

"And in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit," she continued, her tone growing louder.

_Let me tell you something._

_"_ Born of the Virgin Mary," her voice cracked.

_He's not listening._

"He descended into hell," she could no longer think straight, the saccharine intonations in her mind taking over.

_He's not listening._

_He's not listening._

_He's not listening._

Was he? She wondered, the chorus in her mind ceasing all at once, leaving her in a deafening silence. The only sound was her breaths as she attempted to even them out.

The longer she sat there, the quiet atmosphere hanging uncomfortably around her, the more she believed Michael's words. Arella had spent much of her life struggling to correspond to the expectations her parents had for her, but none of it was ever enough. She had a temper, she was much too loud for a little girl, too stubborn, too bossy, and for heaven's sake, why couldn't she just take things for what they were without arguing about it?

She yearned for something different, to be free of the constraints placed on her since she was a child. And here Michael was, literally offering a chance at that. She was well aware of how wrong it was, the ache she had for him, but she was finding it harder and harder to resist.

Sighing, she pressed her palms against her eyes before speaking dryly: "God, help me."

But no help ever came.

❦❦❦

Arella was beginning to hate herself as she swiftly proceeded down the steps and onto the sidewalk once again. A chill had descended, and she shoved her hands deep into her pockets as she headed back in the direction of where she parked her car. Sliding her phone out, she was almost tempted to get an Uber back to the cafe.

 _Stupid_ , she thought to herself, tapping on the screen with her nearly frozen fingers.

She didn't have a chance to react as she collided with someone walking the opposite way. Slightly startled, she stepped back, going to move around them. Fingers grasped her left arm as her phone was taken out of her right hand. Her gaze drifted from the hand clutching her arm up to the face of its owner.

"You should watch where you're going, baby. Never know the kinds of people you could run into on these streets," the stranger spoke, a malicious smile forming across his features. He was still holding her phone above her head, a chuckle leaving his lips.

She smiled sweetly at him, juxtaposing the rage she could already feel amplifying, scraping at her chest, begging to be free. "You shouldn't have done that."

"What?" He questioned her, sneering. "What are you going to do about it, little girl?"

She wouldn't— couldn't— swallow it any longer, burning white-hot behind her eyelids until her irises were nearly black. Blatant ignorance was one thing, but condescension she refused to tolerate.

She tilted her head slightly to one side. A cracking sound resonated as each of his fingers were removed from its grip, bending unnaturally backwards.

"What the fuck?" the man exclaimed, falling to the pavement below him. "What did you do to me?"

"You're right," a final crack came from the arm holding her phone. Crouching down, she plucked it out of his hand. "You _don't_ know the kinds of people you could run into on these streets. You should really be more careful."

She smirked down at him as he cradled his arm in his broken fingers, tears streaming down his face now. She stood back up, continuing on her way as she ignored the cries coming from behind her.

She knew exactly how she was going to handle Michael and the whole situation.

Maybe God was listening after all.


	11. x. hell had you by the throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains horribly translated Latin because I suck. Anyways, sorry for being away for so long, I'm very unmotivated but I do still have a few chapters pre-written if people are still interested in reading. x
> 
> (Translation for Latin bit is at the end)

She was not impressed.

Arella hadn't even managed to wade through the sleepy fog that enveloped her after a sharp knock came on her door that morning. Not a single cell in her body was an early riser; this, in part, is what led her to become a bartender, along with a series of other personal incentives. So, when the pounding on the door didn't stop, she finally dragged herself out from underneath her covers, fully prepared to punch whoever decided it was a good idea to wake her. Reaching for the handle, she tugged on it quickly, a scowl already etched into her features.

No one was there.

Rolling her eyes, she began to pull the door shut before something caught her attention; a bundle of flowers was neatly arranged on the step before her.

Not just flowers, she noted, her heart jumping into her throat. Lilies.

_Lilies._

Images flashed through her mind as she knelt down, brushing her fingertips against the petals.

_Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. Tiny fists at her side mimicked this compression, nails digging into her palms. She could sense it, the turbulent energy surging through her._

_"Channel it, love," a voice spoke softly in her ear. "Try working with it, instead of trying to conquer and control it."_

_"I am trying," Arella sighed, her words coming out in little more than a whisper. She was beginning to already believe that she'd never be able to govern the powers she possessed properly. Upon opening her eyes, a single tear rolled down her cheek._

_The older woman was quick to move to her eye level, wiping the tear away with her thumb. "You are powerful, Lily. We just have to learn how to transmute those abilities with feelings other than anger. Release the tension."_

_Arella knew she was right; the only time she had been able to control the magic coursing through her veins was when she was losing her temper, often ending in disaster. If there was any hope of regaining her mother's affections, this was the way._

_Nodding, she allowed her shoulders to fall, unfurling her fingers._

_"That's it," a hand rested on her shoulder as her eyes fell shut. "Just like we practiced."_

_"Ab intra, vocat ad alta altum," she began, trying her hardest to keep her voice steady. Lifting her hand over the table before her, she put all her focus onto the object in the middle of it. "Pluma quasi lux, ad astra et ad aether... Resurgemus."_

_Her eyes fluttered open, the flower now floating about a foot above the surface it was previously resting on._

_"Perfect," the woman grinned, causing a smile to form on Arella's face as well._

_The moment did not last long, however, much to Arella's disappointment. Her mother came in, taking in the scene before her._

_"Mother!" Elizabeth's tone was so loud and jarring the walls nearly shook. "I have warned you about this. You will not poison my daughter with these ridiculous incantations. I will not allow it."_

_The flower fell from its position, landing with a dull thud. The magic was over._

_"Elizabeth," the eldest woman began. "The best way to help her is to teach her how to control, rather than suppress her abilities."_

_"This is the last time you will ever try and tell me how to raise my child," Elizabeth gritted her teeth, the anger bubbling to the surface now. "You are not welcome anymore."_

_"Mom, we were just-" Arella tried to intervene._

_"This is not you, Arella," Elizabeth cut her off. "And someday you will understand that. Time to say goodbye now." Shooting a glance at her mother, she turned on her heel to exit the room._

_The sobs were beginning to wrack Arella's small body now._

_"Do not cry, my love," her grandmother spoke, running her hand across her cheek. Reaching over, she picked up the black lily off the table. "Remember that despite the negativity surrounding this beautiful flower, it still brings about rejuvenation, new beginnings. You are the same, Lily."_

_She nodded, leaning her head into her grandmother's touch as she delicately placed the flower in her hair._

_"You encompass powers far beyond what you and I could even begin to conceive. Entities are at work that are much larger than us, but which we cannot see. This is part of the journey. You will be reborn, and I will see you then. For now, take care of yourself. Keep your chin up, but also keep your head down. Things will make sense in time. Continue blossoming, Mea Bella Lilium. I love you, to the end of this life and forevermore," she pressed her lips to the child's forehead._

_Arella sighed, her eyes squeezing shut as she attempted to stop the fresh wave of tears from coming._

_"I love you too," she whispered, opening her eyes._

_But her grandmother was already gone. And so with her went Arella's childhood. However, as promised, she would be reborn, for better or for worse._

As she pulled herself from her memories back into the present, Arella could feel a couple of warm tears trickling down her cheeks. Upon hastily wiping them away, she reached her hand toward the cellophane wrapping to grasp the tiny card inside.

"Not impressed" no longer seemed to encompass her feelings adequately as she read the words. 

_Livid_ was probably more adequate. She knew it was foolish of her to get her hopes up, believing her grandmother would show up all these years later, but a small part of her still longed for that connection once again. So, it took her by surprise when someone else's handwriting filled the space, of which it took her a few moments to recognize as she read the words over again: _It's time to be reborn, L. Let us try this again._

 _Fucking Michael,_ she thought to herself angrily, storming inside with the flowers clenched tightly in her fingers. Retrieving her phone off the nightstand, she typed out a quick text:

_Meet me at the bar. Now._

❦❦❦

Her heels tapped loudly against the tiles of the floor, her eyes set on the blond head sitting at the bar. She could already feel her pulse increasing, her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. She threw the bouquet onto the counter in front of him.

"Flowers?" Michael turned to her, brows raised in surprise. "Arella, you shouldn't have."

"Is this some sort of sick joke to you?" She hissed, trying to keep her voice low. "Are you fucking crazy?"

"What are you talking about?" He responded, a smirk forming on his features. "You're the one who insisted I come here, and now you're throwing flowers at me. Seems to me that you are the crazy one."

They were now drawing the attention of her coworker, as well as other patrons sitting at the tables near them.

"Excuse me?" She spoke, exasperated before leaning in close to him. " _You_ sent these to _me_ , at my fucking _house_. How did you even-"

"What?" He cut her off. "You think I sent these to you?"

She shook her head, pulling out the card before shoving it into his hand. "This is your writing, is it not? Pretty distinctive. Oh, and the back is signed with your name."

He raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. I still didn't send them."

"Listen," she muttered, her gaze meeting his. "I don't know who taught you how to gain the affections of someone, but this isn't the way to do it."

"Do you still really think I did this?" He picked up the bouquet, examining it. "I-"

"It's your writing on the damn card, Michael," she responded. "Who told you? Who gave you my address? Black lilies? Those things are next to impossible to find!"

He shrugged defensively. "I don't know what to tell you, but I didn't send you those flowers."

She groaned, shooting him a look. When he returned it with a blank stare, she became increasingly frustrated.

"You have got to be kidding me," she grabbed his arm, dragging him to his feet. "Come on."

"What are you doing?" he questioned her, fingers still clutching the flowers.

"If you still want to gain my trust," she began, speaking lowly as they headed toward the door. "Then you're going to have to start by being honest with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **incantation roughly translates to "from within, deep calls unto deep, light as a feather, to the stars and the heavens... rise"


	12. xi. she comes alive down in new orleans

Arella reached into her backpack, retrieving a couple of crisp bills from the roll bound tightly by an elastic hidden in its depths and shoving them into the driver's hand. She murmured a thank you, the locks releasing with a click before she swung her legs out of the door. Stepping hesitantly onto the sidewalk, she peered up at the massive black wrought iron fence with its stone pillars supporting the gates. Behind it, the white mansion loomed in an almost threatening manner. It was significantly larger than the photos online made it seem. A chill coursed through her, causing her to wrap her arms tightly around herself. 

It most definitely was not cold; the temperature of this place rivalled even the hottest days in downtown Los Angeles, and she found herself regretting the black cotton skater dress that was now sticking to her back. She was quick to chalk the feelings up to nervousness, though she knew pretty well she wasn't the slightest bit apprehensive moving miles away from home. These changes would be favourable for her; being stuck in place was not helping her progress, and interacting with others like her would no doubt be beneficial. Still, she couldn't quiet the unease that fluttered in her stomach as she came closer to the gates.

Adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, she leaned around the pillars, trying to find the page box to notify whoever was inside of her arrival. As she was looking around for it, the gate slowly creaked open. She shook her head, remembering where she was. Of course, they would already be well aware she was outside; this was a building full of witches, after all.

Her boots clicked against the cemented drive as she awkwardly adjusted her bag on her shoulder. Once she made her way up the steps, the door remained firmly shut. Confused, she tapped the glass pane a couple of times, waiting a few moments for footsteps. When none came, she instead rang the doorbell but noticed it didn't seem to make a sound no matter how many times she pressed it.

Shrugging, she tried the knob to find it unlocked. Upon stepping inside, her footsteps echoed hollowly on the floors. The front foyer was dark, aside from the slivers of light filtering through the curtains of the front windows. Everything was blindingly white, and she stopped a moment to wonder how they kept it so clean, even with magic at their disposal.

Crouching down, she unlaced her boots before moving to kick them off onto the mat bordering the doorway. A gust of wind whooshed around her, causing her loose curls to move into her face. This caused a moment of pause that had her looking up, only to see a group of figures in black cloaks and what looked like plague masks descending on her. Startled, she threw her hands up to protect her face, standing still before she heard several thuds ring out, followed by groaning. When nothing more came, she moved her arms down, looking to see the figures heaped on the ground, now removing their masks.

"What the fuck, dude," the blond one groaned, rubbing her head. "Why did you do that?"

Arella's eyes were still wide as she met the others' gazes. "I could say the same to you."

"Oh, it's part of the initiation process," another girl chimed in, sticking her hand out once she managed to pick herself up off the ground. "All of us go through it. Queenie, by the way. The bitch is Madison."

Arella took her hand hesitantly, her eyes still searching the others. Madison was giving both her and Queenie dirty looks.

"Yeah, but no one else has ever almost given us concussions," a third girl grinned, her eyes gleaming as she jumped up. "I like you. I'm Nan."

"Arella," she smiled slightly.

"We all know who you are," Madison scoffed. "Obviously. So why are you even here if you're capable of _that_?"

"We are always able to learn continuously, no matter our strengths, Madison," an older lady came in, an air of authority evident as she glided into the middle of the group. Arella recognized her as the supreme from the pictures on the website. "I'm Cordelia. Let's get you settled in. And girls, let's all make sure she feels welcome, okay?"

Cordelia's hand moved to her shoulder, smiling as she led the way up the stairs. "You'll be sharing your room with one of my original recruits, Devon."


	13. xii. you never got to heaven but you got real close

"Where are we going?" Michael's eyes were wide, trying to match the pace his feet were going to Arella's. Her grip was tight on his arm, unrelenting as she practically dragged him down the sidewalk to the side of the building where her car was parked.

She stopped at the passenger's side, pressing the button on her keys to unlock the door.

"Back to my place," she responded. Finally releasing his arm, she pulled the door open, motioning to it. "Well, get in."

He watched her as she pushed her sunglasses down over her eyes. "Arella-"

She sighed, cutting him off. "Just do it."

Pulling on the handle of the sleek black car, he obliged, smirking as she went around the car and got in the other side. She started the car, noticing the look on his face.

"What's so amusing?" She asked, putting the car in reverse before backing out of the lot. Her grip was tight on the steering wheel, and she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. He was frustrating her to no end, but she was trying to swallow it. Michael would not get the best of her; she would not allow it.

He shrugged, the smile still playing on his lips as he met her gaze through the tinted lenses of her shades. "You're going on about needing to gain your trust, yet you're allowing me to get into your car with you to your house, no less."

Exhaling loudly, she shifted into drive before speeding out onto the street. "Not like you don't already know where I live, Michael."

He chuckled, throwing his one leg over the other and resting his foot against the dashboard. "You seriously still think that was me? And here I thought you were highly intuitive."

Although their interactions had been limited, he was knowledgeable of the ways to get under her skin. And he knew just how to push it as far as possible.  
"I'm not playing any more fucking games, Michael," she hissed, pushing at his knee. "And get your dirty shoes off my dash."

His tongue flickered across his lips, trying to ignore the fire that ignited inside of him at even the slightest touch from her. Upon dropping his foot to the floor mat, he dramatically brushed his hand against the spot where it was previously resting. "My apologies, Arella. Daddy's Mercedes?"

Unfortunately for him, she was learning his intentions and was most definitely capable of shoving back.

She rolled her eyes. "Mine, thank you very much." Pressing hard onto the brake, she watched as he flew forward, groaning as he made contact with the hard surface before him. "And put on your seatbelt."

❦❦❦

They arrived at Arella's house without any other incidents, as Michael quickly shut his mouth, and she played the radio so loud that she wouldn't hear him if he opened it again, anyways. Upon unlocking the door, she kicked her boots off, motioning for him to do the same.

Sighing, she waved her hand, turning the lights on before plopping down on the couch in the sitting area. Looking up, she expected to see him following, but found he was still standing at the door, eyes wide as he stared at her.

"What?" She questioned him, her fingers moving again to lock the door behind him. "It's a bit superfluous, isn't it? I always wanted to be just like Matilda, so I'm always playing around with it when I can."

His brows furrowed, confused. "Matilda?"

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't seen that movie. The little girl with extraordinary intelligence and telekinetic abilities?"

He shook his head. "I-"

She cut him off. "Unbelievable. Anyways, are you thirsty? I can get you a drink." She held her palm out in front of her, the door of the mini-fridge on the other side of the room opening.

"How-" he shook his head for a second time, incredulous. "How are you doing that?"

She eyed him, trying to find a hint of derision in his features, but he seemed genuinely lost. "I'm a witch? Are you really trying to tell me you're not a warlock?"

"Warlock?" He questioned her. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on," she wouldn't let him make a mockery of her any longer. "I've been thinking of how you could have possibly figured out where I lived. How you learned about the lilies, the supposed rebirth... It's the only thing that makes sense."

He took a hesitant step toward her. His head was already reeling at the revelations coming from her mouth. "Arella, I didn't-"

"It also explains why it was impossible to decipher your energies at the church. How you were able to get into my head and my dreams-"

"Your dreams?" He couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from pulling up a bit at this.

"Stop trying to divert the focus," she put a hand on her forehead, realizing she may have said too much. "The point is, Michael, I know who you are. Or perhaps more importantly, _what_ you are."

He exhaled audibly, sitting down beside her. "I really don't know how else to say this, but I had nothing to do with what showed up at your house today. I have honestly no idea what you're saying anymore."

"Ugh," she groaned, throwing her head back against the couch. "We're still playing oblivious, I guess."

Peering down, she noticed he had kicked his feet up on the coffee table. She rolled her eyes, pressing her socked foot against his leg. "Stop putting your feet on my things."

He chuckled, sitting up so his feet were on the floor. "Sorry. As serious as you are about this all, there's no denying how divine you look when you're angry."

He paused, opening and closing his mouth before tearing his gaze off hers, fixing it on the crucifix hanging on the wall instead. The sight of it only caused his head to swim even more to the point where he felt he was drowning. Squeezing his burning eyes shut, he tried his best to focus. "Anyways, barring the fact that you think it was me who did this, it is bizarre that whoever _did_ wanted it to appear as though I was involved," he spoke quickly, his eyes moving back to her to examine her reaction to his words. He was met with what seemed to be indifference, much to his relief.

" _Everything_ has been strange since you showed up in my life, Michael," she spat, running a hand through her hair.

"Likewise, Arella," he leaned forward, capturing her eyes with his.

"What do you want from me?" She questioned him, nearly pleading. She was quickly growing tired of the back and forth, and all she wanted was a straightforward answer.

He sighed, sitting back. "I don't know, okay? I don't know. This all makes as much sense to me as it does to you. Maybe even less, given the whole witch thing."

"You still haven't convinced me that we aren't cut from the same cloth," she played with the rings on her fingers, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Sure. I'm going to fly home on my broomstick and make some potions."

"Right," she tried her hardest not to react outwardly, digging her nails into the palms of her hands instead. "Since you have no involvement in this, who do you propose did it, and why?"

He shrugged. "No idea. How about we talk about it after you tell me about the dreams you've had?"

"Michael, I swear to god," she groaned, putting her face in her hands.

He was grinning widely. "Fine. Maybe next time, Matilda."

Her irises were aglow as they burned into him. "It's nothing like that."

 _It's entirely like that,_ a voice clawed at the back of her brain. Those thoughts were creeping back in now, and she still couldn't help but think Michael had something to do with it as he continued eyeing her.

"I believe you," he responded, though he didn't in the slightest.

Because while he'd never admit it, the visions had come to him as well.


	14. Genesis II: god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone is reading anymore, but here is a part that I wrote forever ago lol. Hope at least someone enjoys it! x

"Los Angeles?" she spoke, unable to obscure her incredulity at her lover's words. "Surely you haven't become this desperate."

He sighed. "Does it seem like we are given much more of a choice, love? We've exhausted all routes, and as you've said, we simply don't have the time to continue searching. She has already entered the plane, and the opportunity will be wasted if we cannot contribute now."

"Contribute?" she repeated, shaking her head. "Please don't speak of this as if we aren't talking about the birth of a child. _Our_ child."

"This is just as important to me as it is to you, El."

"Oh, really? Is that why you're speaking about him as if he's just a pawn? Just a step in your stupid plan to stick it to your father? Because that's how it seems to be to me," she responded defiantly, glancing away from him.

"My plan?" he questioned her. "If I remember correctly, this was just as necessary to you as it is to me. This is what we both need."

She shook her head, her brows furrowed together. Of course, it was still essential to her that everything they had planned would be carried out just as they discussed, but she wasn't all too willing to take this route. "Are you even listening to yourself? You have no idea what it's like to have carried a growing life inside of you only to lose it continuously. I need this baby, and I will not allow him to be born and raised inside a place called Murder House, L-"

"You're right," he pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin as he rubbed her back. "I don't, but I can still feel the pain of losing a child."

She exhaled sharply. In her eyes, he didn't have a clue. He would never fully understand the pain and suffering she had been put through time and time again, trying to bring about this baby. Trying to fulfill something that brought purpose to her life.

"This could be our only option," he continued. "The prophecy says-"

"I don't give a damn what the prophecy says," she cut him off, venom laced in her voice. "It was written by man, and we both know how reliable their information is."

"Is it not at least worth a chance? We will still be able to watch over him and keep him protected-"

"Watch over him? I want to be his mother, not some guardian angel with no real interactions."

He chuckled lightly. "A guardian angel, you are not, my love. I can promise you that. I think this is a chance and a sacrifice we have to make."

As the words came from his mouth, even he resented them. He hated that he had to resign to something so extreme. But his father wouldn't win. No, that was one thing that he would not allow. He had controlled him for too long. Mocked his very existence.   
She bit her bottom lip, drawing it into her mouth and pressing her teeth in so hard she drew blood. Nothing about the prophecy made sense, not the demons, not the supposed portal to hell, and certainly not the viability of birth coming from a place so contaminated by death.

Not that she should be entirely taken aback by this; both she and her lover had essentially been born from pain and suffering, as well. 

At first, she didn't feel any real connection to the child that she would bear. It was just something that had to happen, a piece of the vast puzzle they'd both built for themselves. But now, having come so close, she wanted it more than anything. She felt this was her real purpose, her one true calling; motherhood. Nothing had even come close to the bond she had with the life inside of her. Not the eternal love that she had with her lover, a connection that had proven to be virtually unbreakable over the many years of problems they'd encountered. Her heart ached, the _need_ to embrace her child palpable as it pounded in her chest.

"All I want is to be a mother," she exhaled shakily, hating how _human_ this all sounded. It was unlike her, and she wasn't sure if she was enjoying what she was becoming.

"Well, you'll always have-" he began.

"They are not even remotely the same. Besides, they've become more yours than mine over the years," she stopped him, hot, angry tears pricking at the sides of her eyes. She hastily reached up, wiping them away before he could notice.

Of course, he did notice. He always did.

"Alright," he sighed. "Maybe it's not the same. This is our chance, love. We have to be as many steps ahead as possible at all times. We will be there to guide him. The girl will need our help as well. I fear the path set out for her will make things much more... complicated."

She wasn't settling for this halfway attempt, not even in the slightest. One day, she knew she would be the best mother there ever was, but she was also aware of what was at stake here.

"Fine," she spoke softly, resigned.

_The reckoning must come._


	15. xiii. room with no windows

She could already feel her eyelids drooping as she tried her best to remain alert. The incessant ticking of the clock on the opposite side of the room had become the only thing she could hear as the voice speaking became muddled and eventually disappeared.

Arella never thought she would be one to get homesick; after all, most of the grief in her life had stemmed from the strained relationships between her and her parents. At first, she didn't mind it. Being around others who understood her and were faced with similar situations had been comforting, but it had become a nagging reminder of what she was, a problem that needed to be fixed. Power that needed to be controlled.

And she was more than aware of her power— she had been since she was a young child in the living room with her grandmother— and even more aware of how much her mother was dying to fix it. To stifle it.

She no longer felt solace in the classrooms surrounded by her peers. She felt suffocated, the grip on her throat only growing tighter as time went on. The one thing she had craved— routine, structure, support— was becoming everything she hated. The one place she thought she would belong was likening itself more to a prison than an escape.

Staring down at the pages of the book in front of her, she tried her best to feign interest and attentiveness, but her rapidly blinking eyes betrayed her. She could only catch a few phrases as Cordelia spoke to her pupils; "important to train", "reading is helpful", "your mind is your biggest asset and potential barrier".

When the class was finally dismissed, a wave of relief washed over her as she moved toward the doorway.

Cordelia reached out, grasping at her arm before she could leave. "Could I speak to you a moment, Arella?"

Heat rose in her cheeks as she stepped aside, the other girls filing out of the room. As much as she hated this place, she still didn't enjoy being caught out for not paying attention.

"Are you doing okay, love?" Cordelia asked her, a tone of sincerity in her voice. "I know how difficult adjusting to this new lifestyle can be, and I want you to know I'm here for you every step of the way.

Arella shrugged. "I'm just tired, I guess."

Cordelia sighed, a knowing smile forming on her face. "You may be a powerful witch, Arella, but I am the supreme. I know when something is going on."

"I'm-"

"Don't worry," the older lady cut her off, grasping her hand. "I just didn't want to embarrass you in front of the other girls. Sometimes it takes time to find your place. I understand that, but you have to stay focused. Many tests are coming up that I believe you will excel at. You very well could have what it takes to be the next supreme."

  
Arella shook her head. "I'm sorry, but that's not what I want. I mean, no offence or whatever, but I'm really just here to try and learn how to be an acceptable witch."

  
"Acceptable witch," Cordelia repeated, chuckling as she patted her hand. "Now that is something that you could never possibly be. You, Arella, you are extraordinary. Cut out to be something bigger. To create something bigger than this. Than all of this." She motioned her hand around the room.

  
Arella couldn't help but notice how Cordelia's words were echoing the sentiments that her grandmother had. Had she meant becoming supreme? What is she implying when she says "all of this"?

She swallowed dryly, trying to push these thoughts away as she opened her mouth to speak. "I really haven't got a clue what you mean. I'm sincerely sorry for not paying attention in your class, Miss Goode, and I'll try and ensure it doesn't happen again."

She tried to exit the room for a second time, but Cordelia's fingers moved to her arm once again. "All I'm saying is consider it. Consider the Seven Wonders. Consider living up to your full potential, Arella. I promise it will be worth your while. Not just for you, but for the sake of the coven as a whole."  
Arella nodded. "I'll keep it in mind. Thank you."

She moved quickly as the grip on her was released, moving down the hallway toward the living quarters.

_She really has no idea what she is talking about._

❦❦❦

"Supreme?" Devon questioned Arella, allowing her cellphone to fall gently back into her lap that she had been practicing telekinesis on. "But why is she in talks about this already? I can't imagine she'd be ready to step down yet. Fiona was Supreme for years before she went. And why you? Like, no offence or anything, but you've hardly been here six months."

Arella shrugged. "I wish I knew the answer to that, too."

Arella and Devon had become quite good friends since she arrived at Robichaux, the latter having been appointed a guide to the newcomer. They bonded over the monotony the place seemed to have at times, and Devon taught her all she needed to know about navigating the academy. Being the Supreme's niece, she was accustomed to the ins and outs of things.

"Well," Devon began, standing up from the stool in front of the mirror where she had been seated. "Maybe don't share this information with anyone else. Lots of the girls here are entirely set on being next up, and they wouldn't be happy to hear that someone else is vying for their spot. Especially not Madison."

Arella shook her head. "If I hadn't made it abundantly clear, I'm not interested at all in that position and am definitely not vying for it. They can have it."

"Well, as you know, one doesn't get to choose whether they become or don't become Supreme. You either are, or you aren't. Maybe my aunt just knows something we don't."

Arella shrugged, setting down the mascara wand on the desk. "Or maybe she's just trying to make me feel like it's important for me to be here."

"And it _is_ ," Devon patted her shoulder. "Let's get going to that party. That boy you like is going to be there."

Arella shoved her hand away, heat burning in her cheeks as she stood up. "Fine."


	16. xiv. bad shivers

"So, are you going to tell me about the house?" Michael raised an eyebrow, waving a hand as he peered around. "Don't you think it's a little much, even for you?"

They had been sitting in silence for what felt like forever, and it was uncomfortable and weighing down heavily.

Arella laughed. "What is that supposed to mean, 'even for me'?"

"I mean," he stood up, gesturing to the various-sized knives hanging over the black marble fireplace. "This is just weird."

"It was my grandmother's house," she explained. "I kept everything as is when it went to me in her will. Of course, no one knows if she's dead or not. She just sort of vanished."

"I'm sorry," he paused, running his fingers across the textured black wallpaper. "That must be hard."

"It's fine," she shrugged, trying her best to hide the inward hurt at even thinking of her grandmother. "It got me away from my parents. Working at a bar wouldn't exactly afford me the luxury of a place half this nice on my own. The taxes are ridiculous. I still don't know why she would choose LA."

"Are you not close with your parents?" He asked her, still gazing at the various odd accent pieces, which included a human skull that he still couldn't decide if it was real or not.

She sighed. "You ask way too many questions for someone who has given me little reason to give any answers."

He chuckled. "Touché."

"What about you? Are you close with your parents?" She questioned him.

"They're both gone," he shrugged, looking down at his feet. "Mom died in childbirth, and my grandmother never talked about my dad except to say she hoped I never turned out like him."

"Oh," she was taken aback by this. "I-"

"Don't feel bad," he glanced at her. "I don't know any different. It's always just been my grandma and I. I like it that way."

"Okay," she nodded slowly. She was beginning to see through his demeanour, and she was surprised with what was underneath.

"Anyways," he stood up straight, and it was as if she could physically see the walls building up around him again. "It's getting late. I should be going home now. Sorry you didn't get what you needed from me."

"Michael, I-"

"This isn't right, Arella. None of this feels right," he shook his head, pulling on his shoes. "Just forget about it, okay?"

She exhaled as he pulled on the door handle, resigned. His eyes met hers one last time as he shut the door, his mouth set in a straight line, features hard. Within moments, he had completely frozen over. Shut her out.

She wanted to scream. She felt like it was becoming more and more crucial that she figured him out, overpowering the warning signs flashing in her mind.

This was much more complicated than she thought.

❦❦❦

It wasn't like he didn't feel bad for what he did. He was horrified with himself for walking out on her in that manner, but opening up felt wrong. He had spent so long manufacturing a façade that breaking it down was uncomfortable. The talk of warlocks confused him and made him question things he didn't even want to think about.

Upon calling an Uber, he hopped in before giving them the address to his grandmother's house— his home.

His phone buzzed in his hand as he glanced down at it. A text from Arella was on the screen:

**_I know you told me to forget about it but I can't. I can't forget about it. You're in my head and I can't get you out._ **

He sighed, sliding his phone in his pocket as the car rolled to a stop in front of the house. He smiled a silent thank you to the man in the front seat, closing the door behind him. Unlocking the front door to the house, he stepped inside to see his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, a cigarette in her hand.

He kicked off his shoes, going to move past her to his bedroom down the hall.

"It's late," she remarked, setting the cigarette in the ashtray. "I know we've had this conversation many times before, Michael."

"I won't do it again," he mumbled, attempting to leave for a second time.

"But it always does, doesn't it?" She questioned him. "Have you been out drinking again? I swear-"

"I'm not a child anymore!" He exploded. "Stop treating me like one."

"Oh, but you are," she retorted, standing up. "Just because your body grew overnight doesn't mean your sense did as well. And as long as you're living under my roof, you will be treated as such."

He rolled his eyes at her, going off to his room and slamming the door shut. He heard her scream something about him rolling his eyes, but he blocked her out.

He had been growing increasingly angry at her, the woman who took him in and raised him from birth. The one who dealt with all his outbursts and oddities through his childhood. The one who loved him for who he truly was.

But she was becoming more and more of a nuisance, thinking he could be fixed by a priest and his stupid cross and book. Taking out all her anger on him. He was having a hard time swallowing it anymore. He didn't want to be this way. In fact, he could hardly grasp _who_ he was, let alone _why_ he was.

The bitter feelings bubbled to the surface as he lay there, waiting for her to go to sleep. He could feel the anger burning in his stomach, the acid making its way into his throat.

The next thing he knew, he was on top of her, his hands around her neck.

"You don't tell me what to do anymore," he spoke through gritted teeth, his grip tightening.

Her eyes were frightened, truly frightened for once as she struggled to remove his grasp on her. He took note of this, the trance he was in snapping as he dropped his hands from her and began to cry.

"Grandma," he spoke softly as her hands moved to brush the tears off his face.

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she grasped her grandson.

"Can I have a glass of water?" He asked, his voice breaking.

"May I," she struggled to speak.

"May I?" He repeated after her.

She nodded. "Yes."

He smiled at her as she got up.

This was why he needed to stay as far away from possible from Arella, he noted. He was poison to everyone who tried to get close. He truly was just a volatile child, unable to control his anger and outbursts. Going into his messages, he deleted her text.

He wouldn't allow himself to poison her, too. 


End file.
